


A Confusing Hobbit Afterlife, as told by Frodo Baggins

by Tamloid



Series: Reflections in a Mirror [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Frodo's Gay Uncles, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Magic Mirrors, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29886654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamloid/pseuds/Tamloid
Summary: Frodo Baggins, like most hobbits, never really expected to have an afterlife. It was perfectly pleasant here in Yavanna’s Garden, he supposed, it’s just...where in the world was his Uncle Bilbo? And why was there a large mirror behind Bag End?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Reflections in a Mirror [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006104
Comments: 22
Kudos: 63





	A Confusing Hobbit Afterlife, as told by Frodo Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> Enter Frodo...

Frodo Baggins was having a very... strange afterlife.

It wasn’t like Frodo hadn’t known that he would die eventually. In fact, he was quite familiar with death in all its incarnations. His parents had died when he was very young, and although his Uncle Bilbo had come back from his adventure, he'd looked like something within himself had been lost. During his own “adventure,” if the trek to Mordor could be called such, death had seemed like it was always just around the next turn of the path. Afterwards, back in the Shire, the scarred landscape had seemed to slough off the tar of war, yet Frodo had wandered around with a dark miasma clinging to him. The rolling green hills and brightly painted smials and even his neighbors had recovered easily enough from the invasion, yet Frodo had floated through it like a ghost. 

Valinor had certainly lifted that shroud of death from his soul, but he’d always known that it would be temporary. The Undying Lands were only “undying” for the immortals among them, after all. Uncle Bilbo hadn’t even made it all of the way across the sea, hadn’t gotten to step foot on Valinor’s shores, before departing for good. Frodo had been sad, of course he was, but he’d also been relieved that his uncle was finally at peace after so many years of grief and regret. It had taken Frodo many years after that, and reuniting with his dearest friend Samwise, to reach a similar peace within himself. But as all mortal beings must, he had finally reached the end of his very long life.

... and then he’d woken up again in a lush, beautiful Garden. That part had been confusing. Hobbits generally didn’t give much thought to what happens after death, so experiencing anything at all was unexpected. But, nonetheless, in a Garden he’d awoken, and his long-departed parents had been there to welcome him. After many tears and many hugs, his parents had escorted him from where he’d awoken and the three of them had walked toward ... home? Was it home now? It was a smial, in any case, the one he’d lived in before his parents’ accident, what was literally a lifetime ago. 

His parents had explained about Yavanna’s Garden, how all their dearly departed family and friends were there, how they each had a place to call home. The smial of Primula and Drogo Baggins was familiar and yet... not. Frodo hadn’t seen the smial since he was a young lad. To be honest, most of his memories of childhood were set against the backdrop of Brandy Hall or Bag End, or amid green hills and golden fields. His parents’ home seemed familiar in the vague way of faded childhood memories but it also showed clear signs that it was presently lived in and loved. 

Nevertheless, his parents’ presence helped Frodo feel comfortable there, and he spent a few days simply enjoying being with his parents once more. Various hobbits he’d known in life had stopped by the smial to welcome him, but there was a _third_ parent of his he still hadn’t seen yet. Uncle Bilbo didn’t come welcome him. Frodo was disappointed that he wasn’t there. After his parents had died, his uncle had been a bright light and a safe haven that pulled him from his sadness and from the chaos of Brandy Hall. Once Frodo had gone to stay with Bilbo for good, Bag End had become home and Uncle Bilbo had become like his parent and things had been _good_ for a few years. Uncle Bilbo _was_ here in the Garden somewhere—he’d asked his parents, just to be sure, and they’d assured him that Bilbo had shown up quite a few years ago now—but Frodo didn’t know why his uncle hadn't come to see him. So he decided to go looking.

Just walking up the lane and seeing Bag End at the top of the hill was comforting. He paused just to drink it in. How many times had he come home to exactly this view? Behind that round green door was _home,_ it had been for so long no matter whether it had been Uncle Bilbo, or Sam and Rosie, or just his own lonely company waiting for him. The exterior looked exactly like he remembered it from his last day in the Shire, down to the eighty-year-old rune carved into the door that glowed even in full sunlight. He reached the top of the hill and gave a perfunctory knock on the door before opening it and walking right on in.

“Uncle Bilbo? Uncle, I’m home!” he called. There was no response. “Uncle? Are you here?” Only silence answered him.

Bilbo was nowhere to be seen, and Frodo became more confused the more he walked through Bag End. It looked mostly like it had for the majority of his life. Even when it had been him, Sam, Rosie, and the kids, they hadn’t had the heart to change much about the place. The smial was tidy and spotless in the way that everything seemed to be here—dust, he supposed, had no place in Yavanna’s Garden—but there were differences from the Bag End of his memory beyond those that came from recent habitation. The pots and pans in the kitchen were of higher quality than he could ever remember Bilbo owning. The grate in front of the fire and the set of fireplace tools were not the well-worn, simple ones he remembered always being there. This set was relatively new and the handles were shaped with designs that reminded him of Gimli.

The situation only got more puzzling when he walked toward the back of the smial and snooped around Uncle Bilbo’s bedroom. The bed wasn’t pushed up against the wall like it used to be, and there were two nightstands instead of just one. In Bilbo’s closet hung the familiar vibrant array of shirts, vests, and waistcoats, but the _buttons_ on the coats were much fancier than Bilbo had ever worn. And there were sets of clothes in darker colors that looked a tad too large for the Uncle he’d known. _What_ was going on? And where was Bilbo?

Frodo stood there in the empty, inexplicably different bedroom and after a moment’s thought, turned on his heel and walked swiftly back through the smial. He made his way outside and started the hike to the one other place he knew could reliably find Bilbo when he wasn’t at home: the old oak tree. Bilbo had often spent hours at a time standing in front of the tree and staring eastward. After he’d moved in Frodo had quickly figured out that if he couldn’t find his uncle, checking the oak tree was a good first step.

But clearly this whole afterlife business was determined to be as perplexing as possible because as he crested the hill, Frodo saw that where the mighty oak tree had stood for his entire childhood, in its place was... a mirror?

It stopped Frodo in his tracks, and he felt the need to rub his eyes a little to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. Yes, that was undoubtedly a mirror, though a taller and rounder one than he’d ever seen. It hadn’t been visible from the front of the house, but he should have noticed the lack of leafy oak branches that usually crowned Bag End. He’d been too caught up in the sight of home to realize what had been missing. As Frodo slowly crept closer to the out-of-place mirror he saw that it was also more intricately decorated than any mirror he could remember. It was beautiful, no doubt, with what must have been hundreds of very realistic oak leaves around the brass frame. It was, he realized, about the same size as his front door. And were those _acorns_ where the doorknob would be?

Frodo got closer and moved to stand in front of it and became even more confused. Was it not actually a mirror? It certainly had _looked_ like one as he’d approached from an angle. But now that he was standing right in front of it, it no longer showed himself and the Garden behind him. Instead he could see a large room with bright stone walls and many, many more mirrors. Frodo’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and in excitement, too. A mirror that wasn’t a mirror but showed him someplace unknown? Well _that_ certainly wasn’t what he was expecting, but honestly, when _hadn’t_ Uncle Bilbo’s life been full of mystery and adventure? Frodo was curious, eager to explore something new in a way he hadn’t been since before his coming of age. He reached out to touch the surface of the mirror... and his hand passed right through the surface.

* * *

Frodo Baggins was going on an adventure! ... in the afterlife. 

It was a good thing, Frodo thought to himself, that he really hadn’t had any expectations for what an afterlife _should_ be, because he was sure it wouldn’t contain missing uncles and mysterious mirrors. When Frodo’s hand passed through the mirror, he instantly knew that the rest of him would soon be following. Uncle Bilbo was probably out there somewhere visiting relatives or exploring the woods, and although he desperately wanted to reunite with his uncle, he knew that Bilbo, of all people, would forgive him for jumping into an unknown adventure without warning. So Frodo squared his shoulders and stepped right on through the mirror’s surface. 

When he emerged on the other side and looked around, he found himself in a vast stone hall filled wall to wall with mirrors. He glanced behind him at where he’d come through and hanging on the wall was a mirror identical to the one that had stood in the Garden behind Bag End. It still refused to show his reflection, but he _could_ see the hill he’d come from and his home behind it. A tentative exploration revealed that _his_ mirror, as he chose to think of it given the abundance of other mirrors that populated this room, let his hand back through the surface. With his passage back to his parents and his home more assured, Frodo decided to explore.

This Hall of Mirrors he’d found himself in was absolutely massive, on the scale of what he could remember from the dark depths of Moria, and similarly devoid of people. He walked around in amazement and marveled at the sheer variety of mirrors the room held. Each and every one was unique, and each was crafted and shined to perfection. Unlike his mirror, each of these other mirrors reflected Frodo’s image back at him. Something in his subconscious told him not to reach out and touch any of them, but he leaned in as close as he could get to study some of the intricate details. The frames displayed more varieties of metals than he’d known existed. Some were polished smooth, others textured or sculpted with detailed pictures, and still others sparked with finely shaped jewels and stones. Still others were adorned like his own was with hundreds of pieces of individually shaped metal that formed a larger picture. His mirror had oak leaves and acorns; others had flowers or trees or a thousand figurines of soldiers. Frodo’s survey took him farther inwards, around the perimeter of the room, and back outward again toward the entrance and hey, wait a minute, he recognized that symbol from the clasp of Legolas’s cloak—

Frodo was drawn out of his exploration by a gasp coming from behind him. He whirled around and saw a dwarf he didn’t recognize standing just inside the entrance to the hall. The stranger was rather tall and thin for a dwarf, and without the stockiness Frodo had come to expect. The dwarf had dark shoulder-length hair, unbraided, a scruffy but beardless chin, and brown eyes that were currently widened in surprise. Frodo had never seen a dwarf with so little beard or braiding, but maybe he’d become biased after befriending Gimli. This new dwarf seemed to get over his surprise and grinned.

“A hobbit!” the stranger exclaimed. “Wow, how did you get here? Nevermind, I don’t care, this is great!” Frodo’s eyes widened in alarm as the dwarf practically skipped over to him. “I can’t believe there’s a hobbit here! Well, a hobbit who’s not our hobbit, anyway.”

The dwarf gave him a rather dramatic and sweeping bow from the waist. He was grinning when he came back up. “Kíli! At your service, Master Hobbit.”

Kíli... Kíli... Frodo knew that name! “Kíli... son of Dís? And Víli?” Frodo asked.

Kíli froze. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Frodo for a moment before they suddenly became as large as saucers. The dwarf’s smile somehow got even wider than it had been before and he let out a very loud cheer that echoed through the room. Frodo barely had time to startle at the volume before Kíli scooped him up in a full body hug and twirled him around in circles while laughing exuberantly. 

Frodo’s squirming must have finally caught Kíli’s attention because the dwarf set him down abruptly. Frodo staggered, a bit dizzy from all the spinning, and was grateful when Kíli grabbed his shoulder to stead him. Once Frodo’s head stopped spinning for long enough to look up at Kíli again did the other finally answer Frodo’s initial question.

“Indeed I _am_ Kíli, son of Víli and Dís,” Kíli replied. His smile shifted from manic excitement to something much more genuine. “And I am most assuredly at your service, Master Baggins.”

Given Kíli’s reaction Frodo shouldn’t be surprised that he’d been recognized—he’d eventually grown resigned to people recognizing him for his role in the destruction of the Ring—but he squirmed a bit in discomfort anyway. He’d never gotten used to being _the_ Master Baggins. “Master Baggins” was and always would be his Uncle Bilbo, regardless of who lived in Bag End. But no matter his current discomfort, Frodo’s uncle had drilled into him manners expected of a Baggins of Bag End, and so Frodo bowed low as befitted the foreign prince he knew Kíli to be. “It is a pleasure to meet you Prince Kíli,” Frodo said, and it really was a pleasure to meet this particular dwarf. “My Uncle always spoke very highly of you and your family. Frodo Baggins, at your service, my lord.”

Kíli scoffed and clapped a friendly hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “Oh no, there will be none of that ‘Prince Kíli’ nonsense, not from you, Master Baggins. I’m just Kíli.”

Frodo smiled in relief. “Well then, Kíli, I’m just Frodo. I’ve always preferred that, anyway.” Frodo paused as something Kíli had said finally registered in his mind. “Wait. What did you mean, ‘not _your_ hobbit’? Is there another hobbit here? And where is _here,_ anyway? It's only been a few days for me but I’m quite sure there’s nowhere like this place in the Lady’s Garden.”

Kíli’s smile turned a bit sly and the hand on Frodo’s shoulder turned into an arm slung across his shoulders as Frodo was steered out of the Hall of Mirrors. “Ooh, I’m _so_ glad that I found you first. Fíli and Uncle Frerin will be so jealous!” Kíli said with a happy lilt in his voice. “Come on, my dear Frodo, I’ll explain while we walk.”

According to Kíli, Frodo had stumbled upon the Dwarven afterlife and was now strolling through Mahal’s Halls of Waiting. It was astounding as it was baffling. As they walked through the stone halls Frodo was more and more convinced that he was, indeed, walking through the mythical halls Gimli had spoken of during the long, sorrowful days after Moria. As Kíli led him through the halls he caught glimpses of grand halls that made the Hall of Mirrors look positively plain. He’d compared the mirror-room he’d entered through to the ancient dwarven kingdom, but the more he saw he knew that there really was no comparison. Yes, Moria had been immeasurably vast in scale and the craftsmanship of the ancient dwarrow had been obvious in the little of it he’d seen. But all of its splendor had been of the past, worn, decayed and chipped away. These Halls of Waiting were, ironically, alive with the sights and sounds and, yes, smells of dwarrow life. This was _exactly_ what a living dwarven mountain should feel like, Frodo thought. But why would there be a passage to here from the Garden?

After twenty minutes or so of walking Kíli cut off his explanation with a shout of “Brother!” and frantically waved at a yellow-haired dwarf coming down a side hallway. _That must be Prince Fíli,_ Frodo thought, as the dwarf Kíli waved at drew near.

“Brother!” Kíli said again with a satisfied air. “Look who I found wandering through the Hall of Mirrors! This,” he said with a grand gesture at Frodo, “is Master Frodo Baggins.”

Fame was exhausting, Frodo had come to learn, and the revenant whispers of “Ring Bearer” had worn on his psyche. But dizzying though it was, he far preferred the dwarven tendency to abruptly invade his personal space and spin him around while shouting in his ear. No reverence to be found, here. _This isn’t so bad,_ Frodo thought as Fíli put him down. 

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Master Baggins!” Fíli said with a warm and genuine smile. While Kíli’s exuberance was slightly overwhelming, Fíli’s warmth immediately put Frodo at ease.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Fíli, and please, like I told Kíli, it’s just Frodo. To me, Master Baggins is and always will be my uncle.”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a glance. Should he not have mentioned his uncle? Maybe there were still some bad feelings over what Bilbo did with the Arkenstone. Or maybe they finally seemed to realize that, perhaps, Frodo wasn’t meant to be here? That was worrying. Frodo wasn’t sure what Fíli intended to do: based on Uncle Bilbo’s stories, Prince Fíli, heir to the throne, might personally escort Frodo back to the Mirror-That-Was-Really-A-Doorway, but the older half of Fíli-and-Kíli-the young-rascals-that-lost-the-ponies might ask to join in with the impromptu tour of the Mountain. “So,” the older dwarf asked with a grin, “where are we off to?” _Join in, it is!_ Frodo thought happily. Good, he didn’t want to leave yet.

“We're taking Frodo to see Uncle. Let’s go!” Kíli told Fíli, and ushered Frodo and his brother down the hallway.

Fíli frowned, but followed. “Uncle? Isn’t Uncle at the training grounds right now? Why are we going this way?”

Frodo saw Kíli give his brother a sly smile. “Oh no, Fíli. _Indâd_ is at the training grounds right now. _Indâdith_ is at home. And, as Frodo has only been in the hobbit-y afterlife for a few days, he hasn’t met _Indâdith_ yet.”

Fíli’s eyes lit up and that made Frodo worried again. “Ooh, I see what you mean, Kíli,” Fíli said, and now Fíli’s smile matched his brother’s. _Definitely worrying,_ Frodo thought with a sense of foreboding. “By all means, let’s get Frodo to _Indâdith_ with all haste.”

Fíli and Kíli flanked him with an arm each around his back and Frodo found himself with nowhere to do but wherever they led. Frodo was, as ever, confused with what was going on. He didn’t know all that much Khuzdul, just a few curse words he was pretty sure Uncle Bilbo hadn’t meant to teach him, but based on context, he thought that _“Indâdith”_ must mean “Uncle.” Which meant ... oh dear sweet Yavanna, that meant that Fíli and Kíli were taking him to meet their uncle, the legendary Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thraín, son of Thror, the rightful King Under the Mountain! Oh dear lord, Frodo thought he might panic. Why did he need to meet the King Under the Mountain? _What did I do?_ he thought frantically to himself. Did he need the King’s permission to be here? Was he in trouble for leaving the Garden? He’d just been so curious about the Mirror and he hadn’t felt that excited and adventurous in years and so he’d just... leapt. And now he found himself potentially in trouble with a king. Was this how Uncle Bilbo had felt running off into adventure that first time? Chasing after something exciting and full of possibilities and stumbling into unexpected dangers? Frodo's own adventure had been full of fear and pain and desperation from the beginning. This time had felt so different at first. He'd just wanted to have some fun, like he used to do when he was young! He hoped he wasn't about to face some obscure dwarven punishment for invading their afterlife!

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to meet Thorin Oakenshield—Eru knew that Frodo had wanted to meet the majestic and tragic leader from his uncle’s stories since he was a kid—but he’d never thought he’d be in trouble when it happened! How was he supposed to behave? Getting in trouble in the Shire had been more about the scolding from his elders, and Bilbo certainly had known how to scold with the best of them. He could just bow, he supposed, and hope that King Thorin accepted it better than Aragorn had... or Fíli... or Kíli... oh _why_ did royalty never let him bow like he was supposed to! Frodo was definitely panicking.

He was so lost in his spiraling thoughts he lost track of how long they’d been walking, but in what felt like no time at all the three of them stopped in front of an ordinary looking door. Frodo barely had any time to prepare himself to face the severe disappointment the legendary figure from his childhood stories before Kíli knocked twice on the door and then swept it open and dragged Frodo in behind him. Any hope of escape was blocked by Fíli stepping into the doorway behind them.

“Uncle!” Kíli singsonged. “Oh, Uncle! Look who I found in the Hall of Mirrors!”

Frodo braced himself to kneel or bow before a stern-faced dwarven king, but when Kíli stepped aside Frodo saw... a scene that could have taken place at any point during his adolescence. There, as ordinary as you please, was a small, round, curly-haired hobbit sitting in an armchair before a fire, book in his lap and cup of tea on a side-table. Frodo thought he must be hallucinating because surely it couldn’t be... was that Uncle Bilbo?!

Any doubt was erased from his mind when the person in the chair cried, “Oh my goodness! Frodo!” The other hobbit leapt to his feet, book dropping to the floor and tea sloshing alarmingly as it was jostled on the table, and enfolded him in a fierce embrace. Frodo found his head tucked into the person’s neck and he inhaled and, _oh,_ he thought, heart racing, it _was_ Uncle Bilbo! Frodo hugged his uncle—his _parent—_ back and let out a sob that was muffled by the other's shoulder. That one sob must have opened the floodgates because suddenly Frodo realized that he was crying and making a mess of his uncle’s shirt and repeating, “Uncle Bilbo, oh, Uncle, I found you, you’re really here!”

Bilbo seemed to be in a similar situation if the wetness on Frodo’s shirt was any indication, crying into his nephew’s shoulder and mumbling, “Frodo, my dear sweet boy, oh Frodo, you’re here!” over and over.

The two of them just held each other and wept for a long time, decades of grief and regret and sadness melting away into happiness at being reunited with the only other person in existence who truly understood their pain. It was some time before either of them had enough strength to let go, but when they finally parted and Frodo could see Bilbo’s face once again, he was startled to realize that they were nearly the same height, and about the same age, too. The last time that Frodo had seen his uncle, Bilbo had been stooped low under the weight of his years, bent over the walking stick he’d used since he’d left the Shire for good, wrinkled skin spotted and thinned with age. Now, though, his uncle was young and hale once more, skin smooth, golden hair shining, and he stood tall with youthful vigor. Frodo hadn’t seen his uncle like this in so long. _This_ was the Uncle Bilbo who’d left for the Shire to win back a mountain with his friends, a mere fifty years old.

“Oh, my dear Frodo,” Bilbo said with a wide, happy smile. Bilbo reached up with both hands to cup Frodo’s cheeks and wiped away some of his tears. “Oh, my dear boy, how I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo replied in a whisper, overcome with happiness to see him again. Bilbo laughed and kept touching Frodo’s face, seeming to drink in the sight of his nephew just like Frodo was doing with his beloved parent.

“Oh Frodo, I’m so happy that you’re here,” Bilbo said with a warmth that Frodo had dearly missed, “and I hope you’ll forgive me saying, but I’m glad it took you so long to catch up with me. I wanted you to enjoy the peace of Valinor for as long as you could before moving on to the Garden.” Bilbo drew him over to the chair that he’d been sitting in and dragged the matching chair over from the other side of the table for himself. “Come! Sit, my boy, sit, you must tell me everything!”

Frodo sat with a laugh at his uncle’s familiar mannerisms and rested back into the clearly well-worn chair. “Everything, Uncle?” Frodo asked playfully. “That’s quite a lot. It’s been more than sixty years, you know.”

Bilbo huffed in laughter, clearly enjoying the chance to be teased by his nephew again and, _oh,_ Frodo had missed this, too. “Yes, yes, _fine,_ there will be time for that later, I hope, and I _do_ want to hear all about Valinor at some point,” Bilbo said good naturedly. “But you must at least tell me how long you’ve been in the Lady’s Garden, and, for that matter, how you found me _here."_

With that Frodo was suddenly reminded that he’d come here with two other people and hastily looked back at the doorway, but Fíli and Kíli were gone. They must have slipped out quietly during his initial tearful reunion with Bilbo, and Frodo needed to remember to thank the pair for their tactfulness in giving the two hobbits privacy.

He looked back at his uncle and answered, “I woke up in Yavanna’s Garden just a few days ago, Uncle. I’ve been staying with my parents. It was so wonderful to see them again after all this time, and people kept coming by their smial to welcome me but—” Frodo cut himself off.

“But?” his uncle prompted gently.

“But,” Frodo continued, trying to say this as delicately as possible, “I kept wondering why _you_ hadn’t come to see me. I missed you.”

“Oh, Frodo,” Bilbo whispered, his eyes welling up with tears, and he reached out to grasp Frodo’s hand. Frodo held onto his uncle’s hand like a lifeline, but he didn’t want to make this sadder than it needed to be, so he barreled forward.

“So I decided to go looking for you,” Frodo interrupted whatever apology Bilbo had been about to start. “I went up to Bag End to look, but you weren’t there. And the place was the same, like my parent’s smial was the same as I remembered, only it was... different in a lot of little ways. But you clearly weren't there, so I went to go look for you at the oak tree like I usually do except ...” Frodo trailed off again.

“Ah,” Bilbo said, seeming to comprehend now what had happened. “Except there’s a Mirror where the tree used to be. And my curious nephew discovered that it was a doorway and decided to see what was on the other side.” Bilbo looked at him with fond indulgence.

Frodo gave a sheepish smile, like he used to do when he’d come back home from a trek through the forest covered in mud. “Yes, Uncle, that’s right.”

“You know, I’m a bit surprised that you were able to come through,” Bilbo mused. “The Mirror shouldn’t be a door for anyone else. But perhaps...”

“What is it, Uncle?”

Bilbo took a deep breath and seemed to steady himself, and looked back up, tightening his grip on Frodo’s hand. “Perhaps it let you through because the magic knew that...oh Frodo, my dear, you _must_ know that you are like a son to me, that I love you as my own child. You do know that, yes?” Bilbo asked with intensity.

Frodo couldn't help but smile at how much he loved his uncle. “Of course I know that, I always have. I love you, too, just like I love my mum and dad. You’re my parent, too, Uncle Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked like he was going to cry again. “Good,” Bilbo said roughly. “That’s... good, you should never doubt that, Frodo.” He took an unsteady breath. Frodo felt Bilbo’s hand loosen around his, but Frodo tightened his own in response, not letting his uncle retreat too far. Bilbo shared a smile with him and then continued his explanation. “In any case, the magic on the doorway between here and the Garden is only supposed to let myself and” he paused, “one other through. I suspect, though, that the magic on the doorway recognized you as... as my child, and let you through.” Bilbo paused again. Maybe, like Frodo, he was still processing the very emotional moment, but recovered first and ploughed on through. “And so you came to the Halls and...” he prompted.

Frodo went along with the change of topic. Right, he still had plenty of questions about this whole situation. “And soon after that Kíli found me, and then Fíli found us, and the two of them brought me to you.”

Bilbo looked around the room as if he, too, was suddenly realizing that the two young dwarfs had left them alone, and gave another fondly indulgent smile. “And based on your reaction, they didn’t tell you where you were going or who you were going to meet?”

“Ah, no,” Frodo said with embarrassment, remembering his earlier panic. “No, they didn’t. I rather thought I might be in some sort of trouble, having come here without the permission of whoever’s in charge.”

“Those two,” he said with a quiet laugh and a shake of his head. “Incurable troublemakers, but they are sweet boys, my nephews.”

Frodo was startled. _Nephews?_ The confusion was back. “What?” he asked.

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed, eyes wide, seeming to realize what he’d said. “Um, right. Well, you see, my boy, it’s a rather long story...”

But Frodo was already starting to put some pieces together. He looked more closely around the room he was in and saw a blend of what were clearly Bilbo’s things and many dwarven items. The grating across the fireplace and the fire poker set was identical to the one that had confused him so much in Bag End. And, Frodo realized, the other seemingly out-of-place things in the smial had looked rather dwarven, too, including the clothes hanging beside Bilbo’s in the wardrobe. There’d been _two_ nightstands by the bed, and with Bilbo calling Fíli and Kíli his nephews that must mean…

“Oh my lord, you’re married to Thorin Oakenshield!” Frodo shouted excitedly.

Bilbo looked startled and had tensed up in his chair. “Um...” he said. “Yes, actually. That’s it exactly. How did you—?”

“Oh, this is so great!” And it really was! Frodo could hardly believe it. His uncle, married to Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor! The hero from his childhood stories! How unexpected! Did that make Bilbo a prince? Or, or Consort Under the Mountain? Was that the right term for it? Oh, that put a _very_ different slant on the story of the Quest for Erebor!

“Uncle, this is wonderful!” Frodo said, still overwhelmed with excitement. “I’m so happy for you.”

Bilbo looked surprised at Frodo’s enthusiasm, but happy. “Thank you, Frodo. That means... so much. More than I can say.” He was settled back in his chair again, tension gone, at ease. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take the news.”

“Uncle, I just want you to be happy,” Frodo said sincerely. He didn’t want Bilbo to have any doubts about Frodo’s support. “Most of the time I’ve known you, you’ve been... not sad, really, but melancholy. Lonely. Like there was something that you missed dearly that was gone forever. But it was _someone,_ wasn’t it? _He’s_ why you would stand at the oak tree, why you would stare off into the east, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, my boy,” Bilbo replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve grown so much since I left you. Yes, Frodo, it was always Thorin I was thinking of, and Thorin that I was missing. I had barely known him before he was gone, but I never, _ever_ forgot him. And when I died, I made my way here and—” Bilbo paused and smiled, cheeks blushing with happiness. “Well, we’ve been married since not long after we reunited. As you’ve probably guessed, we spend our time both here and in the Garden. Actually, Frodo, it’s rather lucky that you made your way here when you did. Thorin and I came back from the Garden just a few days before you said you arrived, and we had planned to be here in the Halls for a few weeks. If you hadn’t stumbled upon the Mirror and decided to go on an adventure,” he said with a lighthearted tease, “it might have been quite some time until we saw each other.”

“I’m very happy I’m here now, Uncle,” Frodo said, “and I’m very happy for you and Thorin.” He really, truly was. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Bilbo as happy as he was now, and after everything his uncle had been through in life, Frodo fervently believed that Bilbo deserved every happiness he could find. Frodo paused a beat. “So when can I meet him?”

Bilbo laughed at Frodo’s eagerness. “Why don’t we go and find him? He should be at the training grounds right about now.”

Frodo hopped up from his chair and dragged his uncle up by the hand. “Well then, what are we waiting for, Uncle? Let’s go!”

“Alright, alright!” Bilbo said with a laugh, allowing himself to be hauled toward the door. “I’m coming, my boy. Have mercy on your poor old uncle!”

“Don’t be silly, Uncle Bilbo, we’re practically the same age, now!” Frodo teased as they reached the door. His uncle grumbled a little under his breath about the silliness of youth and opened up the door to the hallway, only to stop in his tracks before running into two people standing in the way. Frodo peered around Bilbo and saw that, yes, it looked like Kíli and Fíli had been standing guard with their backs to the door and were now blocking their way out. And from the sound of it, they were also blocking someone else from coming in.

“We _told_ you already, you can’t go in yet,” Fíli was saying to the unseen person in the hall.

“Fíli, Kíli, please have mercy,” the stranger said, and although the voice was much deeper than Bilbo’s, the tone could have been identical to any of the hundreds of times Frodo had tested his uncle’s patience. “I’m sure that whoever Bilbo is visiting with won’t mind if I simply pass _through_ the sitting room. Just, please boys, let your poor uncle through so that I can wash up.” _Oh,_ Frodo thought, _I guess I get to meet him sooner than I expected._

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Kíli said without budging. “But until Bilbo says it’s alright—”

“Bilbo says it’s alright, Kíli,” Bilbo spoke up. He reached a hand up to clap Kíli on the shoulder. “You all can come in. We were actually about to come and find you all.”

Fíli and Kíli turned around with identical cries of “Uncle!” 

“We guarded the door for you,” Kíli boasted.

“We thought that you’d both appreciate some privacy for a while,” Fíli continued in a calmer tone. 

“Thank you, dear boys,” Bilbo said and ushered them all back into the sitting room. Frodo turned back toward the door and was practically vibrating with anticipation to meet the final person in the room. Bilbo drew him forward to stand before the tallest dwarf Frodo had ever seen. The dwarf was dressed in worn and comfortable leather sparring clothes and his hair was loosely plaited in a way that was obviously more for convenience than style. But even as plainly attired as he was, the dwarf’s regal bearing was clear to see. As Frodo looked up and met eyes as blue as the sea he was grateful for Bilbo’s supportive hand on his back, because there was no doubt that Thorin Oakenshield could be quite intimidating even without trying.

“Thorin, my dear,” Bilbo started, “I’d like to introduce you to—”

“Frodo Baggins,” Thorin said with a tone of delighted surprise. Thorin smiled a small, yet sincere smile, and Frodo was stunned at how much that small change transformed what had been a stern and slightly dour visage into something welcoming and warm. “It is indeed an honor, and a pleasure, to meet you at last. I’ve looked forward to this day for longer than you know.”

All of Frodo’s nervous energy of earlier was gone now. He felt calm, grounded. Yes, this might be his childhood hero, legendary King Under the Mountain, reclaimer of Erebor. But right now, in this moment, the most important thing was that he was Bilbo’s husband. And to Frodo, that meant he was—

“Uncle. It’s so good to meet you, too.” Frodo said, smiling wide. Thorin’s face softened and when he smiled again, his happiness was blinding.

“Nephew,” Thorin replied, his voice rough with emotion. “Could I… would it be alright if I…?” Thorin tried to ask, and when he opened his arms and took a small, hesitant step forward to embrace him, Frodo didn’t hesitate. He dove into Thorin’s arms and grabbed him tight. Thorin enfolded him in strong arms and Frodo felt safe and loved, like nothing could come close to harming him as long as Thorin was near. “I must confess, Frodo, that I have thought of you as one of my nephews for many years now,” Thorin, his new uncle, murmured into Frodo’s hair. “Not just because of how dear you are to my beloved Bilbo, but because I watched you grow up, too, in a way. Bilbo has told me so much about you I feel like I know you already, but if you let me, I would like to get to know you as you are now.”

Frodo nodded his head where it was tucked against his uncle’s chest. “I would like that very much, Uncle Thorin. Maybe,” he said tentatively, “maybe I could stay with you and Uncle Bilbo for a little while when you’re back in the Garden?” Frodo pulled back a little to look at Bilbo and realized that Bilbo had been standing there the whole time and watching Thorin and Frodo embrace with tears in his eyes. 

Fíli and Kíli took advantage of the opening to swoop in and steal Frodo away, squeezing him between them. “No, you can’t go yet, Frodo!” Fíli pronounced. “We haven’t gotten enough time with our newest cousin.” Cousins! He had dwarven cousins, now! He’d have to figure out the exact relation later.

“Yes,” Kíli took over, “we haven’t even shown you the rest of the mountain yet! There’s loads to see here.”

“And our Mum and Da would positively _murder_ us if you left before they got to meet you,” Fíli said.

“And don’t forget Grandmother Frís!” Kíli added. “She’s been wanting another child to spoil for _ages!”_

Frodo’s head was spinning trying to keep up with the two of them. Honestly, they were as bad as Merry and Pippin had been when they were younger! 

“Alright boys, that’s enough,” Bilbo stepped in with a laugh. “There will be plenty of time for all of that.”

“Yes, let’s not overwhelm Frodo with everyone just yet,” Thorin suggested.

Frodo dearly wanted to meet everyone and see everything this mountain had to offer, but he’d been gone for hours already and hadn’t told anyone where he was going. “We might have to save that for another day,” Frodo said reluctantly. “It’s only, I didn’t tell my parents that I would be gone. I’m sure they’ll think to look for me at Bag End eventually, but...”

“Oh, come now, I’m sure they can wait _one_ evening.” Bilbo swooped in and stole him away from his new cousins. Frodo was beginning to feel like a birthday present that people kept fighting over the way he was being passed between people. His uncle wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him back toward the sitting area. “After all, they know perfectly well that nothing truly awful can happen to you in the Garden. And they had you all to themselves for three whole days before your poor old uncles got to see you. Stay with us here for the night, and the three of us will all head back to the Garden tomorrow.” 

Bilbo pushed him to sit back down in his previous chair, and Fíli and Kíli rushed to sit at the floor in front of his chair. “No, Kíli, don’t settle in, I need you to go tell your parents we’ll all be by for dinner. And yes,” Bilbo continued when Kíli was about to interrupt, “you can tell them when they ask that I will help them prepare dinner since we’re imposing on short notice. But please,” Bilbo continued once again when Kíli looked to interject, “just a small group. All of us, and your Uncle Frerin, and your grandparents if they’re available to join us. But that’s it, nothing larger.”

Kíli was laughing by the time he stood up. “You call that small? That’s nearly our entire family!”

“Clearly you haven’t been to a Shire party, then,” Frodo said cheerfully. An evening with his uncle and his new family sounded just about perfect.

Kíli’s eyes lit up at the idea, but it was Fíli who sat up excitedly and asked, “Oh please, _can we,_ Uncle Bilbo? Let us come with you tomorrow and we can _finally_ see what the Garden is like. You _know_ that Mahal likes you, he’d let us go if it was _you_ who asked him.”

The pair of them turned wide, pleading eyes up toward Bilbo, which solidified their resemblance to Frodo’s old friends. He didn’t know if the Garden would survive if the two pairs of troublemakers teamed up.

The look on Bilbo’s face told Frodo he agreed with that assessment. “We’ll talk about that later. Now, off with you, Kíli,” he said with a shooing motion. “I won’t have your mother mad at me for showing up unannounced.”

Kíli put his hands up in surrender and backed toward the door. “Alright, _Indâdith,_ alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

Once Kíli was on his way out the door, Bilbo turned around to his husband and said, “And you—” Thorin, who’d been quietly chuckling at his nephews’ antics, straightened up. “—you go wash up. You’re still all dirty from your sparring and I would like Frodo’s first evening in the Mountain to be pleasant, if you please.”

Thorin put his hands up and mimicked his nephew in retreat. “Alright, _Âzyungel,_ alright, I’m going,” he said with a chuckle. He swooped in to plant a quick kiss on Bilbo’s cheek and backed up toward what was probably their bedroom. As he walked behind Frodo’s chair he passed a gentle hand through Frodo’s hair. “I’ll just be a moment, _Mizimith,_ and then you can meet more of this ridiculous family.”

Frodo cranked his head around to ask, _“Mizimith?”_

Thorin smiled sheepishly at him and translated. “Little Jewel.”

Frodo blushed a little at the affectionate name, and smiled up at the dwarf. “I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of _our_ family, Uncle.”

Thorin blushed and smiled back, and went off to clean up. When Frodo turned back around both Bilbo and Fíli were looking at him with soft, happy gazes. Frodo blushed and slumped down in his chair in embarrassment.

Bilbo chuckled at his behavior. “Don’t be embarrassed, Frodo lad, this family is, indeed, quite ridiculous. I’m just happy that you two seem to have accepted each other so quickly.”

Fíli, who’d been quietly watching their interactions since Kíli had left, chimed in. “Well, Frodo, is this about what you expected?”

Frodo thought about what he _had_ expected. A few days ago, he hadn’t really expected anything beyond dying, really. And then after he woke up in the Garden, he’d maybe expected endless peaceful, quiet time spent with family and friends in a lush and bountiful place, perhaps interspersed with the occasional prank or party or other mischief. In short, well, the Shire. 

What he’d found instead? Adventure, excitement, a brand new world to explore. His Uncle Bilbo, happier than Frodo had ever seen him. And unexpected family.

“Not what I expected, no,” Frodo finally answered Fíli’s question, smiling in genuine happiness. “It is far, far better.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, Bilbo thinks of Frodo as a son, so Frodo can go through. Thorin thinks of Fili and Kili as sons, so…. ;)
> 
> The reason *why* Frodo comes through the Hall of Mirrors and not Mahal’s Forge? Well, that’s a fic for another day.
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> Âzyungel = love of loves  
> Indâd/ith = Uncle/Little Uncle (because “Nothing Gold Can Stay” is king and also because it’s much less awkward than what the Khuzdul dictionary recommends)  
> Mizimith = Little Jewel


End file.
